


Symphony of a Beautiful Insanity

by theoraclespecialist



Series: The Symphony of a Beautiful Insanity [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Bipolar Disorder, Domestic Fluff, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Future Fic, Ian broken, Love Triumphs All, M/M, Mickey feels guilty, Mickey helps him through it, No cheating, Rape Aftermath, They Get Through It, Unconditional Love, Worried Mickey, for what happened to Ian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:11:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3845320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoraclespecialist/pseuds/theoraclespecialist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set 13 years after the events of Season 5.</p><p>Having moved out of the South Side years ago, Ian and Mickey have now settled into domesticity. Though it is not as smooth and blissful as they thought it'd be, they are still trudging forward. However, after one mysterious night at the bar, their paradise begins to fall. Ian begins exhibiting strange, aggressive behaviour and Mickey, worried for his partner, immediately knows something is wrong. Fearful that Ian might have cheated, Mickey is hesitant to take action. With the help of their son, Yevgeny, and the rest of the grown-up Gallagher clan, Mickey seeks to help Ian and prevent him from sinking into the abyss of his own destruction. Love is blind. Love is unconditional. But no one told Mickey that love is also a heart attack waiting to strike you with all its sheer strength.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever! So damn nervous but I've been writing for awhile so maybe it's not so bad. I absolutely adore Ian and Mickey and like the rest of the fandom, I was not pleased with the season 5 finale. But I imagine they've made up since then and now we can comfortably jump into the future. I would love any/all kind of commentary, advice, reaction ANYTHING. This is the first of a multi-chapter story. Hopefully you all will like it!
> 
>  
> 
> I'm now taking prompts at tumblr: sodetectivegalaxy

“Yevgeny Milkovich, I won’t hear no for an answer!” said Ian. His son laid flat on his bed, flinging a rubber ball against the ceiling.   
Ian was folding his son’s clothes, trying to talk him into cleaning his room but Yev only responded in apathetic murmurs. “C’mon, buddy, it’ll only take about twenty minutes,”  
Both Yevgeny and Ian surveyed the state of the room. “Okay, an hour, at most,” corrected Ian.   
“But I’m tired…” he mumbled as he continued tossing the ball into the air.   
“Are you okay? Are you running a…” He placed his palm on Yevgeny’s forehead. “You seem alright,”  
“Why can’t you do it?” countered Yevgeny.   
“Well, I have to head to the bar in a bit. And I won’t have any time when I get back,” said Ian. “Plus, you’re old enough to do it on your own. Without my telling you,” Playfully, he tugged at his son’s leg and dragged him out of his bed.   
“Hey, hey, ouch aaah ouch!” Yevgeny cried in pain, gripping his leg. Ian realized his mistake and cursed himself mentally. Yevgeny had gotten injured during a baseball game last weekend and though the boy hardly complained about physical wounds, he looked quite annoyed at the moment.   
“What the fuck, Ian?”   
“Language!” warned Ian. He kneeled down and touched his son’s foot. “Do you want me to get the cream?”  
“No, no, don’t need it,” he said.   
Yev stood up clumsily and limped his way towards his desk. Just as he was beginning to clear the clutter, Ian interrupted him. “It’s okay, Yev. I’ll do it,”  
He raised an eyebrow at him. “But you just told me that I’m old enough to…”  
“Well, you’ll still be old enough when your foot is better. No excuses then, alright?”  
Yev shrugged and jumped onto his bed. Ian wiped his forehead and studied the wreck that occupied the room- the clothes spilling out of the dresser, scramble of books and papers on the desk, knot of wires near the bed, dusty computer screen, dusty carpet, dusty window, toys on the floor and every form of disarray possible. He was on his way to grab the vacuum cleaner when his phone vibrated in his pocket.   
He recognized the number but that only worsened his mood. But then again, this number hadn’t called for a while so maybe it was indeed due. “Hello,”  
“Mr. Gallagher?”  
“Yes, Ms. Bach,” he said. “How can I help you?”  
“Well, we need you to come in on Monday,”  
“What did he do now? Because I’m sure you can inform me over the phone,”  
“Um,” she sounded hesitant. “I don’t think I can. This is quite serious, I’m afraid. Well, more serious than usual,”  
After the phone call, Ian hurried into his son’s room. Yev had reverted to the rubber ball routine, once again lost in his own mind, paying no heed to what was happening around him. “Your school called. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”  
“I flunked Math. Again,”   
Ian sighed. “But I thought it went well this time,”  
“I thought so, too,”   
Despite their constant attempts, it was proving to be difficult to erase the stench of the South Side attitude from Yevgeny’s character. It has been years since they moved out of the grimy but affable neighborhood but much to Ian’s dismay and amusement, Yevgeny’s behaviour often mirrored that of his father. Perhaps it was inevitable. Sure, some similarities between Mickey and Yev made Ian giddy with joy- boldness, practical intelligence, sense of humour, ability to think on one’s feet but more often than not, there were traits that frightened Ian because of the consequences they might eventually bear, such as a disregard for authority, recklessness, unwillingness to strive and disrespect for figures who want to help him.   
But he attributed them to his son’s adolescent immaturity. Sometimes it didn’t matter if a thirteen-year-old was being raised in South Side or North Side; he would cause trouble wherever he went.   
As Ian was finishing up using the vacuum in Yev’s room, he heard the front door open. “Ian?” called out Mickey.   
“In here,”   
His partner sauntered in, looking exhausted. “You gotta do this now?”   
“I’m almost done. Yev, over here, has a broken ankle,”   
Mickey rolled his eyes. “Broken ankle, my ass. Kid can’t walk a few fucking steps without falling into pieces. Made of feathers, aren’t you?”  
Ian ruffled Yev’s hair. “He’s hella strong, I think. Just like his dad,”  
A reluctant but pleased smile broke out on Mickey’s face. Half an hour later, Mickey was relaxing on the bed, swigging down beer and watching television when Ian stepped out of the bathroom, his hair wet, a towel wrapped around his waist. As Ian reached out for his shirt, Mickey seized his arm and pulled him closer. “What’s with the rush, tough guy?”  
Ian placed one hand on Mickey’s knee and the other on his shoulder. “The bar might burn down in flames if I’m not there,” explained Ian, trailing his fingers delicately up Mickey’s arm.   
“Yeah? And what about me?” Mickey grinned.   
He shuddered as Ian ran his hands over his body, making every bone in his body crackle with lust. Ian leaned forward and lingered just near his mouth, teasing him, tempting him, slowly, drawing him in. Mickey stared at his partner’s lips, those parted lips, pink, glistening, full, fleshy; multiple joints in his body ached for their supple but firm touch. His desire for Ian stretched beyond the limits of his five senses. And those five senses just about exploded as Ian slid his mouth into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey bristled in an uncontrollable haze as Ian wrapped his arms around his neck and tugged on his hair.   
“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey groaned.   
“I should really get ready,” Ian panted, as he began undressing Mickey. “I don’t want to be…late,”  
“That’d be a fucking bummer, won’t it?” said Mickey as he let Ian climb on top of him and pin him to the bed, flat. With his sly but poisonous tongue, Ian drew a line across Mickey’s chest, causing him to contort in pleasure and moan irresistibly. “Fuck, this is…oh fuck,”   
Ian’s hand slithered down Mickey’s body and stopped below his belly button. “Uh-oh, I think we’ve got a problem here,” smiled Ian as he drank in the sight of Mickey’s twitching and rapidly-hardening dick.   
“Fix it then,” asked Mickey as he slammed his lips against Ian’s and raked his fingers down Ian’s back, pushing him closer into him.   
“I just took a shower,” said Ian, lifting himself off Mickey and lying down beside him. “I really have to go, man,”   
“It’s a good thing I’m pretty damn clean right now,” Mickey smiled mischievously as he crawled down Ian’s body and took his fully-erect dick in his hand. When Mickey thrust it inside his mouth, Ian realized that he actually wasn’t going to be that late.   
After a mind-bending orgasm, Ian stood up to get dressed. For real, this time. Mickey settled back into his old position and kept ogling at him when he wasn’t looking. “What the hell is even happening in the bar?”  
“Some bachelor party. Apparently, some customer hooked up with one of the dancers ten years ago and now they’re getting married. So of course, let’s fucking invite the entire gay population of Chicago, am I right?” said Ian, fastening his tie.   
“How long you gonna be there?”   
“Till I find someone to deputize,”  
“Aren’t you the deputy?” Mickey asked, as he lit a cigarette.   
“The chain never ends,” Ian smiled as he leaned down to kiss him. He snatched the cigarette from his fingers much to Mickey’s annoyance. “No smoking. We can’t afford a fucking surgery if you have another health scare,”  
Mickey rolled his eyes but his heart swelled at having Ian care for him this way.   
“Take the dinner out at eight. Tell Yev to get dressed,”  
“Calm your pores, fancypants,” Mickey smirked. “I got it under control,”  
“Really, Mick?” Ian said dismissively. “Another call from his teacher today. Invited me to pay her a little visit on Monday. Isn’that going to be fun?”   
“Fuck,”  
Ian sighed. “Don’t worry about it, just don’t mess up tonight. Debbie’s boyfriend is a lawyer. Be nice to him, we could really use him if…when you get into trouble,”   
Mickey flipped him off. Then he stood up and lingered before his boyfriend. He put a delicate hand on the crook of Ian’s neck and hesitated. Sometimes, most of the time, he was afraid of touching Ian because if the heft of his feelings found a vent to pour through, he worried he would not recover from the damage of the explosion. Stirred within him constantly was an unquiet longing, a need that extended beyond the physical and the emotional. The sex tended to the lascivious desires that Mickey harbored for Ian but this longing, this worship that veered dangerously close to obsession, held far more meaning than a quick fuck. His stomach turned at the thought of Ian leaving. His stomach turned at the magical sight of Ian. He was screwed both ways.   
“If I am late, don’t stay up. I might not be able to text you,” Ian notified, grabbing his arm and drilling his eyes into Mickey’s.   
“Wasn’t going to wait up for your freckled ass anyway,” Mickey said impertinently before reaching up to kiss Ian. It was a slight peck but holy shit if it didn’t sent jolts of electricity down Mickey’s body. He sought to curb the passion charging through his body as well as the pit in his stomach as he saw Ian dashing out of the room. It was not fair that a human was allowed to hold so much power over another human. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

“Why can’t you go?” asked Yev, setting down the plates.   
“They’re good with the apple; they don’t see this fucking tree,” explained Mickey, buttoning his shirt. “Besides, you know Ian is good at that kind of shit,”   
“Doesn’t matter,” said Yev indifferently. “She’s just gonna spout shit about me,”  
“Ey, we talked about this,” said Mickey, glaring at his son. “This house over here, this…life you’ve got, it’s not a fucking luxury suite. You’re paying for this shit by going to school and getting the bare minimum done, cause listen to me, if you don’t, we’re kicking your ass out,”  
Yev snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure Ian will have a great fucking time throwing me to the street,”  
Mickey knocked him on his head. “Just because he’s got you spoilt like a can of old milk doesn’t mean I ain’t gonna fight him on this,”   
Before Yev could strike back with a retort, the bell rang. Yev looked at his father expectantly.   
“Let’s see if your ankle turns to dust on your way,”   
Yev rolled his eyes and hobbled to the front door. The door opened and the elation conveyed by Debbie’s voice filled the room. Mickey strode forward and gave her a hug. “Looking sharp, Michael,” teased Debbie, pointing at his attire. Mickey stuck his finger up. Accompanying Debbie was her tall, dark-haired boyfriend.   
“Mickey, this is Jamie. Jamie, Mickey,” Debbie said as the both of them shook hands.   
“Nice to meet you,” said Jamie. He looked to be in his late-twenties, wore thin glasses and sported some light stubble.   
“Sure,” said Mickey. “And this sulky over here…” he said, as he shoved his son. “is Yevgeny Tamir Milkovich,”  
“Yev,” His son corrected him curtly, shifting out of the way, emitting the usual air of disinterest.   
“Get me a drink, will you, Mickey?” said Debbie, slumping down on the couch.   
“Brace yourself, little red riding hood,” 

\--------------------------------------

 

Ian: How’s the dinner going?  
Mickey: ok  
Ian: real articulate   
Mickey: ur fault for ditching me   
Ian: met an old friend from the army  
Mickey: thought it was a private party  
Ian: he’s one of the guests.   
Ian: k gotta go. this thing might go on till the morning  
Mickey: u wont make it to the morning, bitch

“He’s been working a lot, hasn’t he?” commented Debbie, as Mickey set his phone aside.   
Mickey shrugged as he took a sip of his drink. “How else we gonna afford the sky-high rent?”  
“What does he do?” asked Jamie.   
“He is the assistant-manager of the Fairy-Tail,” informed Debbie. “It’s a gay club where…”  
“Please, he pretty much runs the club now. It’d fall apart if he wasn’t there,” argued Mickey in a rather acerbic tone.   
Jamie chuckled and asked quietly. “Do you get jealous?” Mickey looked at him, puzzled. “I mean, I don’t want to speculate but having him out there, working at a place where hoards of guys are looking for a hookup…isn’t that a little terrifying?”   
Mickey sniggered. “If someone actually finds the fucker attractive enough to fuck him, well, mazel tov,”  
Debbie laughed and put some food in her mouth. “I won’t be the least bit surprised if you’ve got your spies at the club, you know,”   
“Very funny,” Mickey deadpanned.   
“How long have you guys known each other?” asked Jamie, looking amused.   
“Us?” asked Debbie. “Let me think. Ever since they got together, so that’s what…thirteen years?”  
“Fifteen,” said Mickey.   
“Fifteen years?!” exclaimed Debbie, her eyes dilated. “My god, that’s insane! Shit. But I haven’t known you that long, surely. Wasn’t there a time in the beginning when you guys were secretive? Like you were ashamed of Ian or whatever?”  
“Hold it, Dora,” said Mickey. “I wasn’t ashamed, just fucking confused. Besides, my dad was a cunt,”   
Debbie nodded in agreement. “Amen to that,” she said, holding up her glass.   
“I don’t think we should toast to that,” Jamie objected, holding in a grin.   
“No, no, I insist,” Mickey smiled as he raised his glass. “To the monstrosity that was Terry Milkovich. May he rot in hell,” Three of them laughed.   
“So, rosy eyes, still looking for that job?” Mickey asked Debbie.   
“No, actually,” she said loudly. “This one over here got me a desk at his firm,” she said, placing her hand on Jamie’s.   
“If lawyers can’t exercise a bit of cronyism, how the hell are they going to retain the least bit of respect?” Jamie said.   
“Too bad,” said Mickey. “Iggy could have found you a gig driving trucks in the South Side. Picking up broken refrigerators and washing machines,”  
“Isn’t that a bummer?” Debbie joked. “My super-expensive degree would have loved that job opportunity,”  
“Your loss,” Mickey grinned.   
“Hold that job, though. Carl may need it,”  
“Did he blow up the supermarket or what?” asked Mickey.   
“Baby number two would probably require some more cash to roll around in,” said Debbie.   
“Oh yeah,” Mickey smiled upon remembering. “Kid’s got super sperm, I tell you,”   
Debbie rolled her eyes. “He’d love to hear you say that,”  
After the dinner, Jamie and Debbie said their goodbyes’. They didn’t seem too upset over not getting to see Ian. Jamie had already met him somewhere and Debbie often visited Ian at work anyways, seeing how she had been floundering across the city, looking for a job and coming up empty-handed up until her boyfriend hired her. “See you soon,” said Debbie, hugging Mickey.   
After they left, Mickey checked on Yev. The kid had his dinner in his room because he was unwilling to join the adults and be a ‘sore thumb’. He was engrossed in his video game and barely tossed a glance at his father. His moodiness hovered over him like a grey cloud, shunning emotional contact with anyone on a daily basis. Mickey suspected that within the mysterious frustration lied a heart of gold because he was, after all, being raised by Ian. But Mickey also knew that that heart of gold would take an interminably long period of time, as well as life-changing encounters and events, to emerge out into the open. He knew this because he was his son.   
Mickey slipped under the covers and lit a cigarette. A pang of guilt gnawed at him but fuck it, Ian wasn’t here; he could smoke all night if he wanted. He checked his phone for texts from Ian and even though he wasn’t expecting them, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He did used to feel jealous about Ian working at the club, who knows, maybe he still feels jealous now. He has always known that Ian was far too attractive, kind and wonderful to be wasting his vivacity on someone like Mickey. He also knew that people eyed Ian up, that people lusted for Ian, that some people would kill to take Mickey’s place. He knew that he probably wasn’t worthy of the love Ian showered upon him. But these doubtful thoughts whirling at the back of his mind never stood a chance against the blinding love that existed between the two of them. It wasn’t just about trust, sure, Mickey trusted Ian but even more than that, he didn’t want any of his suspicions to even threaten to jeopardize their relationship. His need for Ian’s companionship took precedence over any possibility of distrust.   
He watched a bit of TV before the grind of the day weighed down on him and his eyes began slipping into darkness. He shuffled his legs around to find Ian’s legs but upon feeling the emptiness, they ceased. He loathed how cold the other side of the bed was. In the middle of the night, he woke up and thought about texting Ian. But what kind of a loser would do that? The clingy boyfriend who is paranoid about his relationship? The needy bastard who can’t function without his man? A child?  
But yet he shuddered in his sleep. He mumbled Ian’s name into the pillow and clutched Ian’s pillow close to his chest. He gazed at the slit in the drapes, telepathically summoning the morning. At four in the morning, he got out of the bed to pee. He couldn’t sleep when he got back so he smoked a few. He stretched and sent a few texts to Ian, fuck it. This was ridiculous; he was thirty-two years old and a father to a troublesome thirteen-year-old, there was no way he should have trouble lasting through the night due to the absence of another man. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure an image of Ian. Red, dazzling hair. Glowing against the sunlight. A constellation of freckles. How he would kiss him on his temple. How could a kiss be something so chaste and respectful yet so passionate and throbbing of need?   
At eight in the morning, the door to the bedroom opened. Mickey’s back was turned to the door and he didn’t bother to turn back despite wanting to see Ian’s beauty with so much desperation. He didn’t want to come across as a whiny freak who couldn’t sleep without Ian so he pretended to wake up.   
“Fun night?” he asked with half-open eyes.   
Ian answered in a barely audible ‘yeah’ before sliding beside Mickey. Mickey took Ian’s arm and attempted to place it around him but Ian drew back his hand. Mickey turned his head and looked at Ian in confusion. Ian never refused a chance to spoon or cuddle so of course, it baffled Mickey to no end. Ian was unresponsive to Mickey’s silent query. So Mickey went back to sleep, feeling incomplete without Ian’s touch.


	2. The Escalation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's behaviour becomes more erratic and the pair come to a blow over it

That Sunday, Ian pretended to be asleep till noon. He heard Mickey enter the room a couple times, mostly to check on Ian but Ian remained insistent. When he finally woke up, he went straight to the shower. The cold water was supposed to obviate the destructive memories of the previous night. Instead, Ian squirmed in hushed pain as the forceful blow of the water dug into his fresh scars. He spent an abnormally long time getting dressed, delaying the inevitable fact that he was going to have to see Mickey and Yev eventually. His medicine glared at him from the cabinet but Ian chose to avert his eyes.   
He walked past Yev’s room and sensed the stench of cigarettes. Although Mickey could very well be responsible for it, Yev quickly spraying deodorant into his room revealed the identity of the culprit. However, Ian let it go. Today was not going to be lush with conversations, he realized. He also realized Mickey wasn’t home so he relaxed. He washed the dishes from last night and began cooking today’s lunch. His back still stung, as if pests were feasting on it. Quickly, he sprung down to the pharmacy down the street and bought an ointment to help heal the burns.   
Yev and Ian ate lunch in silence. Even Yev noticed how unusual it was for Ian to not be gabbling through the minutes but he didn’t point it out. “Did you finish your homework?” asked Ian, after lunch, as he was doing the dishes.   
“No,”  
Ian said nothing in response. After finishing, he went into the bedroom, locked up the door and applied the ointment on his back. He bit his lip as he restrained from crying in agony. When the four corners of the room became too constrictive, he opened the windows and grabbed a few cigarettes he’d been hiding from Mickey. As he sunk into the smoke of anguish and obscurity, the door to the room opened.   
“Hey,” he nodded as he ambled over to Ian to give him a kiss.   
Ian shifted and turned his head away from Mickey. He shook his head and stared down at the road outside.   
“You okay?” asked Mickey.   
Ian nodded but only just. Mickey didn’t walk away; he grabbed the hem of Ian’s t-shirt and began fiddling with it. “When did you wake up?” he asked.   
“A while ago,” Ian said, still not meeting his boyfriend’s eyes.   
“Took your meds?” asked Mickey, his voice tinged with slight concern.   
Ian nodded. Something was definitely not right, though. He had known Ian for fifteen years and he was astute enough in all things Ian to detect the mildest variation in mood or behaviour. But if he prodded around too much, he might just incur Ian’s wrath. Given Ian’s frustration with Mickey’s caretaker routine, Mickey would be irrevocably stupid to recall that position.   
He snatched the cigarette from Ian and took a drag. To his surprise, Ian didn’t glower at him with disapproval. He didn’t even bother to look at him. Mickey slumped down on the bed and looked at Ian. “Got some fresh dough today. We can go to that fancy lobster place you been eyeing,”  
Again, no response.   
Mickey chewed his lip; this was veering into a plane they have not revisited in over ten years. He tried his best to quench his worries but Ian’s withered, colorless called forth a profound well of misery Mickey didn’t think he was capable of possessing. He stood up and minced over to Ian. “Ian?” called Mickey softly. “Are you alright?”  
Ian turned his head towards Mickey and for a moment, Mickey became internally paralyzed, wondering what in hell was soaring through Ian’s mind. Ian touched Mickey’s hand with a supple finger and in an agile move that shocked Mickey, grasped Mickey’s arm, lunged forward towards the bed, pushed Mickey down in a sturdy shove and leaped atop him. He straddled Mickey’s hips and stared down at him, lust gleaming in his eyes, lust swimming in his veins.   
“I don’t know, Mickey. Do you think I’m fucking alright?” taunted Ian playfully.   
Mickey smiled. “You’re alright, Gallagher,”   
Ian tugged on Mickey’s hair and began kneading his face. “Stop smiling, you mush,” Ian leaned down and spit. “You don’t know what I’m capable of,”   
“Show me, then,” Mickey grinned.   
In yet another rugged motion, Ian flipped Mickey over, gripping Mickey’s shoulders so tightly he had to stifle a grunt. Ian held both of Mickey’s arms down so they wouldn’t flail about. Mickey had to admit to a certain aura of salacious fear at having his arms and legs, in this case, restrained by Ian. Before Mickey could point his head towards the bottle of lube on the nightstand, Ian drove Mickey’s head into the bed, muffling his voice.   
Then he thrust into Mickey, bare and raw. Ian closed his eyes and relished the feel of Mickey’s asshole clenching around his dick. He felt it all: the dominance coursing through his body over each successive thrust, Mickey’s strangled groans feeding his thirst, Mickey’s pale skin quivering underneath Ian’s coarse strokes, his barbed fingers clawing at Mickey’s neck. Gradually, the stark memories of the previous night began to blur and merge with the sore pounding of the present day. His dread began to numb, his freedom began to ascend into the night. The cries of his partner reverberated around his room, soothing the bugs quaking in his head. He had it under control. He was in control. Mickey was within his control.   
“Ian, fuck, aaah, fuck,” cried Mickey. “Jesus, what the fuck is…ouch!”   
Ian touched down upon the four corners of his room and opened his eyes. Mickey struggled underneath him, his neck marked with bleeding scratches. Ian, locked in a daze, pulled out and got off the bed.   
Ian looked awash with disbelief. He couldn’t believe he was capable of afflicting pain of this degree. With eyes popping and his lips quivering, he was struck by a storm of guilt. He put on his pants and started walking out. “Ian, no…look, just c’mon, Ian, it’s fine…no, come back,” Mickey plead to no avail; Ian was gone.   
“Fuck,” he cursed to himself.   
Mickey spent the rest of the evening smoking and pacing back and forth, his skin tingling in anxiety over Ian’s whereabouts and state of mind. He got his neck tended to but that was not the source of his unease. He thought if he should inspect Ian’s medicine cabinet, just as precaution. Perhaps Ian took the wrong dose. Or he took too much of it. Or not enough. Maybe he should call Ian’s doctor for further information. What if the intake of medicine was not the dilemma? What if it was Mickey?  
What a fucking pussy. Couldn’t I just bite his tongue and bear the pain? That’s how sex fucking works. There was nothing in the entire world that could even come close to replicating the pleasure that Mickey derived from Ian’s body. Having his man’s arms and legs holding him in a taut embrace was pure paradise; why would Mickey ever want to destroy this soulful moment with a cry? Hurt is part of love. Hurt is part of sex. What a fucking pussy.   
Thankfully, Ian came around that night. Mickey was asleep when he felt the presence of a lanky figure gliding into the bed. Mickey was unsure if he should face Ian and talk about what happened. Mickey turned around and stared at Ian. Ian stared back at him. Those eyes that he fell in love with back in the day were broken, missing, lost. If Mickey could just dredge up and swallow the sadness that lingered in those eyes. He wanted those eyes to glimmer in love, joy, energy and assurance.   
“I’m sorry,”  
Little did Mickey know that he had nothing to be sorry about. How Ian was at fault here. How Ian was using Mickey to erase the torment that smothered his mind. Poor guy probably thought he was to blame for the injuries dealt to his own neck.   
But Ian did not interject his partner’s apology even though he should have. He buried himself inside Mickey’s arm in silence. Mickey, feeling the need to protect Ian bulging through his heart, enclosed Ian and kissed his forehead. The possibility of Ian walking out on Mickey for something Mickey was responsible for pumped his brain with shame. He would never hurt Ian. Ian, enshrouded in the heat of Mickey’s arms, was still having a hard time inhabiting the darkness without invoking the attack of last night. A tear rolled down his face and disappeared into Mickey’s shirt. 

 

\-----------------------------

 

The next night, when Mickey came home, Ian and Yev were arguing ferociously. They were at the kitchen and Mickey took a minute to observe and gauge before stepping into the dogfight.   
“They asked you to do one thing. One fucking thing. Don’t tell me you can’t do it,” shouted Ian.   
“I have nothing to apologize for,” said Yev.   
Ian banged his hand against the counter. “You beat up a kid. Is that nothing to fucking apologize for?”   
“He asked for it,”  
Ian snarled. “I’ve had it with you. First, you don’t do any of your fucking homework. Failing half of your classes, all because you wanna get high, yank yourself a few times and play video games all day long,”  
“What’s it to you?”   
“What’s it to me?” he repeated, gritting his teeth. “I pay for your school, don’t I? I’m raising you. I make sure you get a meal in your stomach every fucking day. I’m folding your clothes. I’m cleaning your room. And I ask of nothing,”  
“What fucking difference does it make? You both didn’t graduate,”  
“Yev, shut the fuck up,” spoke up Mickey, stepping into the argument as well as the kitchen. “You’re going to apologize to whoever you beat up. I ain’t got the energy to get you a fucking job that you’re probably gonna throw to the dogs a few minutes later. Get your ass to school and do your fucking work,”  
“I’m not going to apologize to him. He deserved it,”  
“We don’t give a fucking shit. If you don’t apologize, you get kicked out of school. Apologize and you get detention, if you’re lucky. Don’t be scared, c’mon,” said Ian.   
“You’re not my dad!” shouted Yev, his voice reaching a pitch they hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’re a loony fucking faggot who needs pills every day to not want to jump off the fucking bridge, which is exactly what you should do,”  
Something flipped within Ian. His face was drained of all the flaming anger and his eyes began hanging down. He left the room.   
Mickey grabbed Yev’s shoulder in rage. “You fucking idiot,” he uttered, attempting to smack his son’s face before holding back. “Get inside your fucking room and don’t come out till you’re bleeding out or dead,’   
Mickey strode into their bedroom and found Ian getting dressed. “The fuck you’re going?” asked Mickey.   
“Get some air,”  
“It’s fucking freezing out there,”  
“Going to have run really fast, then,”  
“Ian, listen…” Mickey began. “Yev didn’t really mean that…he’s just being stupid. You don’t have to get upset. You know you’re fucking better than that…”  
“Who says I’m upset?” Ian said, his eyes wide and his face suddenly enthusiastic. “I want to run so I’m going on a run,” With that, he took off, leaving Mickey stranded and concerned. 

The next week consisted of murky waters in the household. Ian did not fail to execute his duties at the house but he didn’t show a hint of interest. He would knock on Yev’s door, slap a plate of toast outside the door and leave it be. It was of no affect to him if his son ate it or not. He would get dressed for work quite early, give Mickey a kiss while he was still in bed and leave the house without saying a word. He would return late at night, slumping, his face stretched in exhaustion, his hair ruffled. He would cook dinner and follow the routine with Yev. At night, when Mickey and Ian were in bed, snuggling, Mickey would poke Ian with his hard-on but Ian paid no attention to it. One night, Mickey swears, Ian rolled his eyes at it. Ian did not delve into sexual intimacy after the harsh events of that night.   
Meanwhile, fear crept up in Mickey’s mind. Out of a feeling of helplessness and bafflement, he checked Ian’s medicine cabinet and found that Ian had not been taking his meds for the past week or so. He fell into a deep quandary over whether or not he should confront Ian about it. If it provokes Ian’s agitation and further aloofness, then he would inadvertently creating a fissure in the dynamic that Ian has worked so hard to retain. If he doesn’t, however, Ian could go off the rails and endanger himself and Mickey shuddered at the thought of the things Ian could do when he’s seized by the gloom of depression.  
He decided to wait a few days, to give Ian some time to rectify this on his own. On Saturday, when Mickey returned from work, he knew that it had been long enough to let Ian flounder on his own without his meds so he was going to talk to him about it. Yev was not home so Mickey would have the space to calm Ian should this work out properly. Without knocking he entered the bedroom and froze the sight that was unfolding before his petrified eyes.   
Ian was before the computer, jerking off. Mickey cursed, “Goddamit,” Ian, however, barely acknowledged Mickey’s arrival or presence, he continued jerking off. Mickey stared at Ian for a bit before he realized he couldn’t endure this sight so he went to the living room, lit a cigarette and grabbed a beer. After ten minutes, he entered the room again and saw Ian smoking.   
“The fuck’s going on,” Mickey pulled up his sleeves, both literarily and figuratively. “You don’t fuck me for a week and now you’re jerking it off like you haven’ come in a million years?”  
Ian stared back with indifference. “It’s my business,”  
“Not when we’ve been together for fifteen fucking years,” shouted Mickey. “And you’re not taking your fucking meds? Did you just wake up one fucking morning and thought that ‘oh it seems like a wonderful fucking idea to stop the meds’?”  
“And am I dead?”  
“Ian, don’t…” Mickey touched his nose and began pacing in place. “Just fucking don’t. We don’t need to fucking discuss what can happen if you go off your meds,”   
Ian stood up and began dressing himself. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine,”  
“What?”  
“I said I’ll be fine,” Ian insisted, his forehead wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot. “Don’t follow me,”   
Mickey felt like crumpling as Ian began treading out of the house. He followed Ian in to the living room. “Get back here,” he pled. “Let’s fucking talk it out, man,”  
Ian was deaf to his supplications. He was overcome with an impulse to surge out of the house and into the night, submitting himself over to the viciousness of destiny.   
“Ian, where’re you going? Just…” Mickey felt the itch in his eyes and wondered how long he would be able to resist the welling of tears. “Stay,”  
“I need to be alone,” announced Ian, as he tied his shoes up.   
“Fuck’s gotten into you?” cried Mickey. “You need to tell me, man. We’ll figure it out…”   
An uncomfortable theory bubbled through Mickey’s mind and he couldn’t help how it slithered through his lips. “Did you fuck someone else?”  
Ian shot him a look of raw ire. Mickey was prepared for Ian to hurl himself forward and punch his face but Ian just stood up and grabbed his keys. “Don’t call me,”  
“Ian, no…please…I’m sorry, I don’t…Ian…” His sniffles did not contain within themselves the power to affect Ian in any way whatsoever. He stood there, his eyes filling up with tears as Ian dashed away and outside.


	3. The Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey sets to investigate what has been going on with Ian and by the end of the chapter, finds out. But the answer will devastate him.

Ian didn’t come home that night. Mickey knew he had basically driven Ian out of the house so he didn’t bother contacting anyone despite stirring in worry for his partner who had taken off into the cold. Even Yev peeked into the bedroom out of curiousness. “Where is Ian?”  
“The fuck should I know?”  
His dad’s temperament towards him kept him away. Mickey decided as soon as the sun rolls up, he would make some calls. Regardless of whether or not he was at fault here, even though Mickey strongly believed he was, he needed to fix this.  
How could he be so unbelievably stupid? If Ian actually wanted to cheat on Mickey, he’d have done it years ago. God knows how easy it’d be for him; men, boys, girls, all of them often found their jaws dropping to the floor when Ian walked by. But Mickey always felt secure in his relationship, because Ian was the best fucking most honorable guy anyone could ever ask. He loved Mickey way more than he deserved it and Mickey would resent himself till the end of time for how much he has hurt Ian in the past and for how much he continued to hurt Ian despite everything Ian’s done for him.  
His hands shook as he lit a cigarette, staring out of the window. Every time a figure strolled down from the distance, Mickey’s heart grew thrice its size in anticipation of red hair and a gangly figure stopping by the door. But the figure never showed and Mickey had his hopes thrashed every single time. He spent the rest of the night in fitful sleep. At morning, as he spotted the dawn breaking through, he woke up for good.  
He glanced inside Yev’s room. Somehow the irritability and the weariness seemed to vanish when the boy slept and Mickey wished his son would appreciate everything Ian does for the family. It wasn’t too long ago when Yev was a naïve, unassuming child skipping along with his two fathers, allowing himself to be filled to the brim with joy. But then adolescence collided with him and his bright days of sunshine were seized by looming clouds of sulk.  
In the living room, Mickey sat down and indulged in long, imbuing drags of his cigarette. Mickey’s fingers kept dialing the same number but they failed to be received on the other end. His heart thumped punishingly every time he imagined Ian wandering through the perilous streets of the city, feeling feeble, cold and powerless. His mind reverted to the abject days of the past: when Ian left for the army, when Ian ran off with Yevgeny, when Ian took off with Monica and the most recent incident of seven years ago, when Ian, upset over having the bar vandalized in an act of homophobia, drove off out of state, in the ‘pursuit of equality’, as he later explained. Every single time Mickey crumpled, in guilt, in shame over not being able to protect or help Ian.  
Mickey decided to call Ian’s work. Ian often drifted inside his workplace even when he was not needed. He esteemed the bar as his ‘baby’, a flourishing empire he built from the ground up. Ian’s co-worker, Gary, picked up after three rings.  
“Hello,”  
“It’s Mickey,”  
“Oh, hey, Mickey,” said Gary. “Ian feeling any better?”  
“Um, yeah? Fuck. I don’t know, is Ian there or not?”  
“Ian?” he asked as if he had no idea of such a person ever existed. “He hasn’t been in here since last Saturday,”  
Mickey bit his lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”  
“He told me he had malaria and deserved a week off,”  
“Fucking hell, Gary. He either had malaria or deserved a week off. Never buy two fucking excuses,”  
“Sorry. He looked pretty exhausted and sick the night of the party, so I figured it must be…”  
“Sick? Why’d he look sick?”  
“Well, one of the guests bought him a drink and…”  
The door to their apartment flicked open. Ian lurched in, his hair ruffled, his eyes drooping, his jacket flung over his shoulder. Mickey hung up the phone and raced down to help a stumbling Ian. Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey. “Whatsaaaaapp, Mick, we having a good time here?”  
“The fuck you been?” asked Mickey, placing his arm around the taller boy’s waist and dragging him to the sofa.  
“Having a good time myself!” he hollered in drunken jubilance. “Free country, we all gotta libate when we can, am I right? Am I right?” He grabbed Mickey’s cheek and jiggled it. “Fuck yeah!”  
Mickey, incredibly discomposed by this unexplained irregularity in Ian’s behaviour, removed Ian’s hand. He pulled Ian by his unruly read hair and spoke to him in a firm voice. “Next time you wanna go on a fucking bender, let me know. Jesus.” Mickey stood up and pulled up Ian carefully. “Now, let’s get you to bed, your fucking Highness,” 

\----------------------------------------

Though Mickey had tried his best to not let it scourge their South Side neighborhood, gentrification had transformed it into quite a haven of prestige and security. Local businesses looked more reputable and lavish, most of the yards were mowed and lush and the illegal business mostly transpired covertly.  
The Gallagher house for example wasn’t a den of chaos as it had been a decade ago. As soon as all the children but Liam moved out, she had it renovated. And considering how the paintwork still looked radiant five years later, Mickey assumed she maintained this house pretty damn well. The only ‘official’ residents of this house were Fiona, her husband, Daniel and Liam but Carl recently moved back when he found himself redundant yet again.  
Fiona opened the door with a warm smile. “Mickey!” she exclaimed, pulling him in for a tight hug, which he allowed reluctantly. “Missing your haunts, aren’t you? Where is Ian?” She scanned the road behind him.  
He dashed inside. “Cooing through a damn hangover,”  
She chuckled. “Poor kid,”  
“He is thirty, man. Doesn’t need your coddling,” said Mickey irritably, following her into the kitchen.  
Fiona took out a casserole from the oven and set it down. “Are we pretending that you don’t coddle the shit out of him?”  
Mickey grimaced in silence admission. Ian was his everything; he shouldn’t have to apologize for doing whatever it takes to make him happy. “Whatever, listen, I need to talk to you…” He began saying but was interrupted by Liam noisily scudding down the stairs. Liam, once the question mark the family hauled around through the commotion, had become a sharp, capable and appreciative young man.  
“The Mickster!” he yelled as he stormed towards Mickey for a fist-bump. “What happened to my Christmas present, man?”  
“Yeah, yeah…” Mickey said as he lit a cigarette. “Once you stop running your smart mouth, I’ll throw you a dollar,”  
“My smart mouth got us free water for a month,”  
Mickey raised his eyebrow.  
“It’s true,” Fiona confirmed. “He noticed grime in the water hose outside, wrote a written complaint, went to the municipal office, ran his mouth like a hurricane and got us a compensation,”  
“Good going, kid,” Mickey said as Liam took a seat across him. He pulled out a five from his wallet and tossed it at Liam. “You earned it,”  
“You kidding me, man? In this day and age of consumerism and rising sales taxes, what the fuck am I going to do with a five?”  
Mickey stuck up a middle finger and stubbed out his smoke. Fiona got out plates and placed them on the table, the same table at the kitchen where Ian and Mickey have weaved so many of their memories. “I gotta leave soon. The checks are due in five days, I fucking…”  
“If you’re here, you’re eating,” warned Fiona, tapping his forehead with her index finger.  
Mickey shrugged and dug in. Before he could ask who the fourth plate was for, Carl bolted in from the back door, carrying a baby. “Look who’s here, we serving strays now?” he jested.  
Mickey flipped him off. “She’s serving your ass, isn’t she?”  
Carl grinned and sat down, his baby swaying in his arms. “That’s because I’ve got another of these mutants coming,” he spoke to his baby girl, nudging her nose with his. “Heard you got a flat-screen in your shop,”  
“It’s a fucking garage,” argued Mickey, shoving food into his mouth.  
“Doesn’t matter,” countered Carl. “It means you’re making enough dinero,”  
“We’re from the South Side, bitch. We’ll never make enough dinero,” said Mickey. “What happened to that supermarket, man?”  
“Carl got threatened with a sexual harassment suit, yo,” Liam said, clearly amused by the fact.  
Mickey threw Carl a dirty look. “Ey, ey, I fucked the girl, she found out that I have one kid and one on the way so she said that if I don’t quit my ass, she’s gonna call some suits,”  
Mickey laughed. Gallaghers’ could get renovated and cleansed as many times as they want to but trouble would orbit around them like the sun; so fervent was their inclination for wreaking mayhem across the entire city and beyond.  
“What’d you wanna tell me?” asked Fiona, looking at Mickey tentatively.  
Mick chewed slowly, having regretted bringing it up. So delightful was the banter among his family that he was able to evade the hovering clouds of doubt above his head about Ian. “Yeah, Ian’s been acting weird,”  
The Gallaghers’, as well as Mickey for his part, have been through enough to immediately recognize that statement as cause for alarm and it was evident, too. Fiona’s face was assumed by a pout of concern as Carl and Liam leaned in alertly.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well…”  
Mickey didn’t know where to start. He sure as hell couldn’t bring up the move Ian pulled in their bedroom, which, in a different light, on a different day, could have been perceived as sexy and stimulating in the name of pleasure but given Ian’s lack of aggression especially tendencies to that violent effect, it could only be classified as odd and uncharacteristic.  
“He and Yev got into a ridiculous fight a week ago and instead of Ian ruling over Yev with all of his principles and shit, Ian got super upset and just left the house. He stopped taking his meds, he stopped going into work and yesterday, we got into an argument or whatever and he took off for the whole night. Comes back today all drunk and shit,”  
Fiona nodded and looked down, deep in thought.  
“Do you know why?” asked Carl, rocking the baby as she whined.  
“No fucking idea,” Mickey muttered as he felt the corner of his eyes stretch. He wondered if their hearts quivered as hard as his when they thought about Ian struggling by himself.  
“Okay, let’s not worry about it. Maybe he’s under a lot of pressure at work and sometimes when he’s under a lot of stress, he goes off his meds. I mean, you know this, Mickey,” said Fiona. “He’ll probably get back on the saddle in a few days,”  
Mickey wasn’t convinced but he would gladly accept the hope her assumption relayed. Even Liam pitched with his two scents. “It could be, you know, a coping mechanism. As long as he doesn’t go overboard or carry on for too long, it could juice up his mental faculties and even prove to be productive,”  
“I’ll have Lip check in on Ian tomorrow, how does that sound?”  
Mickey nodded. It physically pained him to admit to himself that sometimes he wasn’t going to be enough to take care of Ian. Ian, who gazed up at Mickey with the uncorrupted innocence of a child and who entrusted Mickey with all of his heart and soul, was being let down by Mickey.  
After dinner, the whole family came to see Mickey off at the door. As Fiona embraced Mickey, she whispered into his ear, “Thank you. You get him through it all,” Mickey wanted to let her know that he wasn’t some charity master who tried to help Ian out of a sense of philanthropy or pity. He helped Ian because he was selfish. He helped Ian for reasons of greed; if Ian wasn’t feeling okay, Mickey wouldn’t be feeling okay. It was as simple as that. But it was nice to receive some gratitude, at least.  
“You should talk to him, man,” said Carl. “He only responds to you, you know that,”  
“Will do,” he nodded. “You give me a call at work tomorrow. Maybe you can scrub the windows or some shit,” Mickey touched the baby’s cheek. “And take care of this one. Haley, is it?”  
“Nah,” Carl said, kissing her forehead. “Holly,” 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

When Mickey entered the apartment, he discovered Ian was not only awake and up but he was watching Yev sleep. Mickey tiptoed behind Ian and stood beside him. “Ian, I wanna talk to you,”  
“He’s so wonderful, isn’t he?” Ian smiled, completely absorbed by this sight of Yevgeny nestled among the covers. “You know, I should apologize to him. I shouldn’t have shouted, he’s just a child,”  
“He’s old enough to fucking listen to his parents,”  
Ian did not respond, he just kept gazing forward. Mickey realized that Ian was fading, dropping into the whirlwind of his own unstable mind. He grabbed Ian’s hand and pulled him towards their own bedroom. He closed the door, made Ian sit down on the bed and sat next to him.  
“I’m worried,” uttered Mickey, trying to match eye contact with Ian even though he kept looking away.  
Ian looked down at his feet. “Is it about the meds?”  
Mickey reached for Ian’s hand but he budged him off. “Why’d you stop?”  
A few seconds of harrowing silence followed. Mickey knew that Ian was contemplating on an answer so he didn’t press further. Ian knew that Mickey would not let down this time so he cleared his throat and began speaking, his eyes glued to his feet. “Um, last Saturday, at the bar, I met an old friend. Cooper. From the army. He was one of the guests…”  
Mickey’s brain clicked. What if his earlier suggestion that Ian had cheated on him was proved to be true? His skin quaked in dread as he tried to imagine Ian with another guy. But he listened, anyways. “And, um…he was flirting with me,”  
“I said I wasn’t interested, I had a husband or whatever,” he said. “But he insisted on buying me a drink. I agree to it and I took a few shots with Cooper and his friends. I don’t know what the fuck was in those drinks…” his voice cracked. “But…but, but, the next…the next thing I know…I wake up on a…on a…on a car. And some guy’s dick…is hounding me up the ass…”  
Mickey couldn’t tell what turned within him. He wasn’t sure if something turned within him at all because he felt incapacitated and…numb. Or was it just a rage of emotion? He immediately grabbed Ian’s head and pulled it into his arms despite Ian trying to move away. Ian kept rambling. “And they fucked me, Mick. In turns. I tried to scream, I think…I screamed. I’m sure, I screamed. I screamed, Mickey. I swear to you, I screamed,”  
Ian unleashed his storm of tears and Mickey felt himself unraveling as well. Ian wept into his lover’s shirt as Mickey tried to soothe Ian by rubbing his back and petting his head. It wasn’t just anger bursting through him like a wildfire. He wanted to kill Ian’s accusers with his bare hands and see them choke on their own blood but at the moment, all he cared about was Ian. Mickey tried to wipe his own tears off his face but that would require detached one of his hands from Ian’s body and he wouldn’t do that. Not now. Not for a long time.  
“I’m sorry, Mick,” cried Ian. “I’m really sorry,”  
Mickey leaned down and touched Ian’s face, forcing him to look up at him. “I love you,” said Mickey, never meaning it more than he did today.  
How could he have failed to protect Ian? Why did Ian never to bear the misery? Why does Ian always have to bear the misery? His heart rippled at seeing Ian cry. If only he could suck the pain from Ian and lay it upon himself. If only he could undo the tragedy that seized Ian by the seams. At the moment, he wanted to do nothing more than to hold Ian. Let him know that he was okay. That he was safe. And that no one would hurt him. And that Ian was worthy of the greatest joys of life.  
“We’ll get through with this, Ian,” announced Mickey, putting his lips to his forehead. “I love you so much. I love you so fucking much,” he said, his tears falling down Ian’s hair. Mickey held Ian tightly till Ian exhausted himself with the tears and gave into sleep. Mickey tucked him in and kissed him on his forehead. He watched Ian sleep the whole night, his heart swelling with love that he didn’t think he was capable of feeling. He touched his face every now and then. Every time he found himself falling asleep, he would slap himself awake. He wasn’t letting Ian out of his sight. Pierced in anger, he promised himself that he would fight against anyone who caused Ian to feel even an inkling of pain. His Ian.


	4. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deals with the aftermath of this tragic revelation. Mickey's at odds, knowing that he has to be there for his partner but not knowing how to deal with any of this.

His eyes ached in sleeplessness but Mickey wouldn’t look away from Ian. Even when he was certain that Ian was deep within the trenches of sleep, Mickey couldn’t be sure his partner was in peace. Of course, he wasn’t in peace but judging from his curled-up position and light snoring, at least he was unconscious. Even though Mickey’d prefer Ian on his feet and being his stupid, enthusiastic self, he couldn’t stand Ian suffering.   
Around late morning, he stood up and went to Yev’s room. He didn’t have a firm plan of action but he was going to do everything in his power to move through this and help Ian through this difficult time. Yev leant against the window, a cigarette stuck inside his mouth. He flinched as he saw Mickey come in but Mickey was quick to disperse his concerns. “Save it,”  
Mickey snatched the smoke from his son’s hand and took a drag of his own. “We gotta talk,” he commanded.   
Yev’s eyes flickered in puzzling fear; very rarely in his thirteen years was Mickey the parent to step up and proceed to have a serious discussion with his son. It had been Ian, the one who cared and showed it, the one who enforced the punishments, the one who showered the rewards, the one who nursed him to health when he got sick, the one who bought him ice-cream. Stevlana was the callous, amusing aunt, Mickey was the irritable, foul-spoken older brother but Ian? Ian was the mother, Ian was the father. Ian was the parent.   
“What’s wrong?” asked Yev, catching on that they were wading through grave matters.   
“You’re gonna have to apologize to Ian,” Mickey announced rather calmly but the tone of his voice was still menacing.   
“Why now?”   
“None of your fucking concern,” spit Mickey, slumping on the bed. “He’s feeling down and whether I like it or not, your good graces might perk him up,”  
“What happened?”  
“Too many fucking questions,” Yev stared at him with raised eyebrows. “Here’s the thing, he’s been through…something…tragic,”   
Mickey was surprised at how quickly the tears he thought he had released and evicted last night were once again accumulating inside his eyes. He thought he could handle this in a somber, detached manner but every time he visualized Ian getting forcibly rammed by a horde of bastards on the hood of a car, his insides start uncurling and his mind would be filled to the brim with anger and pain. “Ian…he was…raped,”   
Yev’s eyes dilated and he looked nothing short of petrified. His lips quivered and he shifted closer. Mickey saw in his eyes a kind of unfamiliar feeling, one of dolefulness and affliction and that evoked Mickey to shed the tears that had been straining to escape. Yev, overwhelmed with emotion, immediately leaned into his father’s arms and began crying.   
Mickey didn’t bother to wiping his tears and held his crying son in a rare bit of fatherly affection. “Yev, listen to me, cub, hey…hey, listen to me,” he whispered into his son’s ear as he kissed his forehead. “You’re a big boy, now. You know that, cub. And you know what big boys do? They care of their parents,”  
Yev whimpered, digging his face into Mickey’s arms and Mickey felt the torturous feeling of déjà vu. “Yevy, look at me, hear me out,” he said. “I know you feel like shit. And I feel like shit. But imagine how Ian feels right now,” his voice broke as he thought of Ian sleeping in the next room, haunted by the memories of that night. “We need to be there for him, Yevy. We need to show him how much he fucking matters. Can you do that, Yev?”  
Yev nodded but continued sniffling, tears splashed across his entire face. “Why Ian, dad? Why can’t he have it easy?”  
“I don’t know,” Mickey said in agreement. “He’s a really good person, son. Almost too good for this fucked-up world. We’ll get those assholes, Yevy and we’ll fuck them up. But for now, we gotta show Ian how much we love him, alright?”  
Yev straightened up and rubbed his eyes. “How do we do that?”  
Mickey grabbed his hand and leaned in closer. “Many years ago, Jesus, fifteen years ago, I was doing my first round of juvie. Ian and I, we’d been together for like, two weeks and were keeping it on the down-low. They told me I had a visitor and I wondered who the fuck would wanna see a shit like me in juvie. But your daddy, he is something completely different, I tell you. I treated him like shit and yet he spoke to me through the window and said he missed me. And he waited for me, every damn time. Never turned me down or put me in my place. I showed him hate yet he only knew love,”   
Yev stood up and went to his parents’ bedroom. Ian was up now and his eyes glimmered as Yev got into the bed with him. Yev put his arms around his daddy. “I love you,”  
Ian, for the sake of his son, put away his miseries or at least pushed them behind his guise of happiness. “I love you too, buddy,” he said, kissing the top of his head.   
“I’m really sorry about what I said,”   
“That’s no biggie. We all say things we don’t mean,” said Ian consolingly, caressing Yev’s hair.  
“And that fight in school…that guy said something horrible about you and Dad. They were making fun of you; that’s why I gave it to them,” revealed Yev, whimpering into his Daddy’s shoulder.   
“He did the right thing, then, didn’t he?” Mickey grinned, stepping into the room. Ian looked at him, guilt draining the color out of his face. “He might not be so useless, Gallagher,”  
“He is perfect, Mick,” Ian defended endearingly. He leaned down and propped up his son’s head. “Thank you for standing up for me. But Yevy, there are ways to deal with these things. You can’t just beat them up…”  
“Sure he can. He’s got the balls, doesn’t he?” said Mickey, lighting a cigarette. “Yev, why don’t you go and get started on breakfast?”  
Yev sat up and hopped out of the bed. “Close the damn door,” Mickey ordered, as Yev glowered at him on his way out.   
Mickey stubbed out his cigarette and turned to Ian. Immediately, his resolve over his resistance started melting and his chest felt like it was being pierced by a weapon. How could someone dare to fray such perfection? “Hey,” said Mickey. “How’d you sleep?”  
Ian shrugged. Somehow he couldn’t make eye contact with Mickey, instead choosing to stare at the bed. Mickey understood that the extent of his damage would not afford him a quite night of sound sleep for quite awhile. He stared at Ian’s face and for a few seconds, he felt the vexing itch of incompetence over not being able to do anything at the moment. He would sell his arm and leg if it meant that Ian would find within himself the whim to smile.   
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” asked Mickey softly, shifting closer to him. He repressed his urge to touch Ian and sweep him inside the safety of his arms because he was uncertain whether Ian could withstand a foreign touch at the moment.   
“I thought you’d be…mad at me,”  
Mickey could almost snort if he wasn’t so afraid that it would come across as too insensitive. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck would I get mad at you?”  
Ian gnawed at his lips and convulsed away from Mickey. “I had drugs and got fucked in a parking lot. What does that make me?”   
“Ian…” Mickey said, trying to conjure the words that would assuage Ian’s ludicrous interpretations. “That wasn’t what it was. Ian, they…raped you,”  
At the sounding of the ‘r’ word, Ian burst into tears. Mickey held his breath so that he wouldn’t cede the restraint that allowed him to not accompany Ian into this fissure of agony. He cradled a weeping Ian in his arms and placed his chin on his head, stroking his boisterous red hair. “They fucking disrespected you, Ian. They hurt you. They hurt my Ian. They hurt my baby, my tough guy; they hurt the love of my life. I’m not going to spare them. Nobody hurts you and gets away with it, not on my watch,”   
“Mickey…” he murmured. “I have to show you something,”   
Ian took off his shirt and turned around, exposing the scars that were sprawled across his back. Mickey was trounced by such an acute shock that he almost let out a gasp. He blinked back his tears and clenched his fists. “They did this to you?”  
Ian nodded. “After they….finished, uhh…one of them held me down and they just...played with their lighters, I guess…”   
“Jesus,” Mickey touched the scars as Ian winced in pain. “Fuck, Ian,”   
Ian turned and slouched. “And about the meds…Mick, I just…need to retain some sense of control. Something,”  
Mickey put his palm on Ian’s cheek. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? I mean I fucking get it how awful you must feel but going off the meds might just trigger something that…might hurt you even more,”  
“Please,” Ian pled. “For a few days, that’s all I ask,”   
Mickey contemplated upon it and within the layers of his mind; a prickling sensation advised him against Ian’s simple request. But then he let himself be embroiled in the emotions that arose every time Mickey saw Ian’s face. Ian wanted this one thing and Mickey didn’t want to deprive him of it, especially since he’s had something so severe happened to him. He wanted to make Ian happy however he could, whenever possible, wherever needed.   
“You’re not going out of my sight, then,” said Mickey, gripping Ian’s face tightly. “I don’t want to keep failing at it,”  
“Failing at what?”   
Mickey realized he’d said too much so he stood up, rather abruptly and slipped on his sleeveless t-shirt. “Nothing…it’s nothing,”  
“Mickey.” Ian looked at him critically and Mickey was reminded of their potent bond that left no room for secret agendas.   
“Look, this is gonna sound really fucking stupid but…” Mickey hesitated once again. “The night I found you wiggling your ass at that club, all drugged-out and getting groped by old dirtbags, I made…well, a promise to myself. It wasn’t some certain, formal shit but just a reminder…that I’m always going to protect you from whatever shit’s out there to hurt you. And I won’t let you get…” he choked out. “hurt,”  
Ian pulled him for an embrace; the crying didn’t cease that entire day.


End file.
